


Without Her

by TheRedWulf



Series: Stansa One Shots [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Drabble, F/M, Meh, One Shot, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - In which King Stannis Baratheon muses on the mother of his three sons...





	Without Her

**Author's Note:**

> A random drabble one shot that came to mind.  
> This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.

The ‘Unwanted King’ they called him. Brittle. Dour. Just. Harsh. King Stannis Baratheon was many things, indeed, but he knew that deep down he was only a _man_ without her. 

He was a second son, a forgotten son. A son who endured the hells of war out of duty to his family. He’d held together an army at a young age as they nearly died inside the walls of Storm’s End, he’d led an attack on King’s Landing and had taken the Iron Throne that had too long held monsters. 

But without her, it meant nothing.

His Queen, a woman born to rule, to lead. Though perhaps it was another Baratheon crown she had once pictured wearing, now and for many years she wore a duplicate of his own. A golden crown of stag antlers sat atop her fiery curls, her porcelain beauty a picture of perfection beneath it. 

His Queen. His wife. The mother of his three sons, his mouth quirked in a near smile at the thought of his boys, all black of hair and the image of Baratheon men. 

A decade ago he had marched south, a bitter widower with no children and a firm belief that his seed was somehow deficient. The idea that he was the weaker Baratheon brother. He took the Iron Throne back from those who had betrayed his brother, he laid waste to their armies on two fronts but from the moment he saw her, he ached. 

Tall, proud and intelligent, Lady Sansa Stark met his gaze boldly but not defiantly, kneeling before him to pledge her house to his rule. He had been captivated by the spark of pride in her eyes and the beauty she held. She was unlike any woman he had seen before. 

Through conversation he found her both well versed in the news of the realm and in possession of a sharp political mind. He often found himself seeking out her company, her conversation, thoughts and opinions as he settled into ruling a realm in upheaval. She had become an anchor to his chaotic world and without her he would inevitably drift far away.

He offered her a position on his small council, initially as master of whispers but when she declined he offered her the new position of Wardeness of the North instead. Only then had she accepted and put herself to work as one of his best allies in this time of unrest.

Rumors of her intelligence and beauty spread through the realm like wildfire, and soon they were receiving offer after offer for her hand in marriage. Her hold in the North made her all the more desirable for men with aspirations of ruling. Each proposal was set aside for one reason or another and each time Davos would smile. 

He had known, even before Stannis realized it, Davos had known.

_They stood together, side-by-side, as they observed the city below. Another day had passed in King's Landing and most were headed home as the sun continued to set._

_She stood beside him, ever Lady Stark in a dove grey gown with a direwolf emblazoned around her slim waist. Her hair was a riot of curls styled in the Northern way with braids at her temples. She looked regal, stunning beside him. All porcelain and fire._

_While he had a goblet of lemon water, she was drinking watered wine, claiming she liked the taste but not the alcohol. This statement he was inclined to believe because Lady Stark was always in control of her facilities and sound of mind. The small council had recently adjourned, and they had just enjoyed an evening meal, the Lady and the King. He found he quite enjoyed her company, her sharp wit and teasing nature. It made him feel young._

_“I remember when I was a little girl” she spoke softly, looking out over the city. “I thought that King’s Landing was a city made of gold, a city that would glitter in the sun and the Red Keep was made of rubies against the sunset. I ached to see it” she sipped her watered wine. “At ten and four I wanted nothing more than to return home to the grayscale colors of winter.”_

_“Natural given your experiences” he noted, watching the ends of her fiery curls dance in the breeze._

_She nodded, “Now at nearly ten and nine, I find myself thinking of King’s Landing as home. I believe that has much to do with you, your grace.”_

_“Me?” he asked, clearly surprised as she looked to him._

_“Yes” she smiled up at him. “You are a great king because you are a good man, your grace. You have been kinder than any, fair and patient.”_

_“You are far too kind” he tried to hide how touched and humbled her was by her compliments by sipping at his water._

_She shook her head and smiled, “Growing up I believed, as I was taught, that it was my sole duty to birth children, to bear sons. I am more than a womb here on your council. I am grateful.”_

_“I dare say you would have been wasted as a broodmare” he said simply. “I find your intelligence, your mind, quite singular amongst men and noblewomen alike.”_

_She nearly blushed at the unexpected compliment, “Surely you also find Lady Margaery--”_

_“Lady who?” he scoffed. “The Tyrell’s are a wastrell lot. Opportunistic at best.”_

_“Then why marry her?” Sansa asked plainly._

_“Marry--” he scoffed once more. “Not at all. Where did you hear such a false rumor?”_

_“With the announcement of the Tyrell visit and---”_

_“No, my lady” he assured her. “There is to be no Tyrell marriage, especially not to my brother’s widow.”_

_“Their house is one of the oldest--”_

_“And most duplicitous” he countered, surprised at the confusion written on her face. “Should I marry Lady Margaery I would--” his words trailed off._

_“Your grace?” she prompted moving closer._

_“If I were to wed her, I would only desire another” he said gruffly._

_“Oh” she swallowed, shrinking back. “The late Qu--”_

_“No” he cut her off, slamming his goblet to the stone of the balcony. “Selyse and I barely tolerated each other. She had no desire to be my wife and I held none for her.”_

_“I see.”_

_“I have already seen how marriage goes when neither party truly wishes it” he added. “I have already chosen my bride, my Queen, now all that remains is for her to choose me” his stormy midnight eyes met hers and he felt the moment she pieced it together. Her eyes were bright with emotion as her cup clattered to the balcony floor, the splash of watered wine staining her gown._

_She did not speak, only moved closer and into his embrace, her hands resting on the fabric of his doublet, tracing the stag embroidery over his heart. Unbidden his arms wrapped around her, one at her waist and the other at her shoulders, thoroughly entrapping her. He guided her closer and soon she was pressed against him fully, the soft curves of her lush body molding against his lean warrior’s frame. He could feel her breathing, her body trembling as she watched him._

_A heavy sort of silence surrounded them, thick and electric, as his hand trailed from her shoulders to the thick curtain of her hair to cup her cheek._

_“My Queen” he whispered softly, his thumb stroking her porcelain flesh._

_“My Love” she replied, barely above a whisper as she looked up at him._

_His heart warmed then raced at her endearment, not title or formality but truth._

_She sighed, moving closer still, closing the remaining distance between their bodies until he lowered his lips to her own._

He had married her a fortnight later, unable to wait longer to have her at his side. 

He thought her to be the most beautiful woman in the seven kingdoms as she spoke her vows, her gown a pristine shade of grey so light it looked white in the light, silver direwolves snarling at her shoulders. But he knew, later that night as they consummated their vows, her body arched beneath his as she clung to him, that this woman was beyond mere beauty. She was a goddess made real. 

As Queen she continued to work at his side, with the small council, orphanages and as his Queen in court, even as the swell of their first child grew evident. 

‘A Son’ she would promise as they lay in their shared bed each night. 

‘A strong Baratheon’ he would reply as he cupped her swollen abdomen. 

When her time came he did not leave the antichamber, unable to pull himself from the cries of his pained wife. In the dark of night, many hours later her cries built, screaming his name, begging for his help. 

Like a moth to a flame he moved, storming into the birthing chamber and to her side. Despite the servants and mid-wife’s protests he held his wife against the solid strength of his chest as she pushed their first child into the world. Their first son.

_He nearly panicked as her weight sagged suddenly against him, her sobs softening as wails filled the room. Glancing to the midwife who held the screaming bundle he could quite clearly see the appendage that signified it’s gender._

_“A son, my love, a beautiful son” he whispered against her temple. “A beautiful son” he repeated and her soft sobs turned to cries of joy, her exhausted body snuggling against his._

_The servants saw to the babe and the Queen, a short while later he found them reclined in their shared bed, the black-haired babe suckling hungirly at her breast._

_“He has your eyes” Sansa mused softly as she stroked the down soft hair of their son. “Your hair.”_

_“I fear I’ve not much hair left” he teased. “A strong Baratheon, our little Steffon.”_

_“He is beautiful” she marvelled._

_“Like his mother” he kissed her briefly before turning to watch their son as he drank his fill. “You have given me so much, my Queen.”_

_“My husband” she smiled up at him. “In each other we both found more than we could have ever expected. The world before King Stannis Baratheon was cold, cruel and without love. But now, now I am a beloved wife, a mother and a Queen in a kingdom at peace.”_

_He felt emotion well in his throat, he swallowed it back as best he could as he buried his face in her abundant hair, holding his family close._

After Steffon came the unexpected arrival of Davos and Eddard, twins identical in look to each other and their elder brother. Two more strong Baratheons, heirs to Storm’s End and Winterfell. 

Soon his office became filled with laughter and noise as his three boys played together. All of them happy Baratheon lords. He couldn’t help but watch as they ran, knowing each boy was a gift from his Queen, his wife and a reminder of their love. 

And it was love they shared, true and unexpected. He could never have anticipated Lady Sansa Stark, could never have prepared for her. She was a force of nature, beautiful, smart, elegant and now a fierce mother as well as beloved Queen. He knew she made him a great man, a better king. She was his heart, his passion. 

“Husband” she appeared beside him, pulling him from his musings. As was habit she moved him from his writing desk to sit across his lap, her lush curves settling against him like a balm. 

“It is your name day, you shouldn’t be working so hard,” she chided, kissing his forehead, unnoticing his now bald head. Now at age 50, her husband was still a strong, virile man. 

She looked to where their sons played, smiling at their laughter, their joy. While Steffon was all Stannis in look, his laugh reminded her of Robb. Just as Davos’ blue eyes were all Tully and Edd’s inky hair had a red sheen in the sunlight. 

She loved being a mother, being a wife to a man who cared for her, for their family. Their growing family. 

Smiling softly she looked back to her husband, “Perhaps another brother will help even the odds,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her still flat stomach. 

“Sansa” he exhaled roughly, holding her close. 

“Happy Name Day, my love” she snuggled into his neck. 

“My love” he kissed her temple, her fiery hair. “Perhaps” he smiled. “A daughter this time.”

She laughed softly, “I will see what I can do, your grace.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
> @the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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